


Astonish

by Lomonaaeren



Series: July Celebration Fics [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Present Tense, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Harry and Draco realize they are still capable of astonishing each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astonish

**Author's Note:**

> This is another of my July Celebration fics, written for the following prompt by bicrim: _Harry/Draco, 8th year, coming to terms with being queer now that the war is over, finding each other._

Harry reels up to Gryffindor Tower feeling drunk. He lies on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, hoping none of the others will wake up and ask him where he’s been or what he’s been doing. The returning “eighth years” have more license to be out after curfew than the other students, but, well, it would still be awkward.

And Harry’s not sure that he wants to answer questions about what’s made his lips swell and his heart blaze and thump and a new hot thing wake up under his breastbone.

He’s discovered that kissing a boy feels as exciting as kissing a girl.

Harry closes his eyes and lays his hand over his lips, where he can still feel Michael’s. They’ve been staring at each other for a little while now, ever since Harry heard that Michael likes girls and boys both. Harry thought it was just because they were part of the same small group of students who decided to come back to Hogwarts and repeat their seventh year instead of going to other schools or sitting the NEWTs on their own. But the moment they were alone, it became obvious it was something more.

Harry doesn’t know if they’re going to stay together, though. After all, he and Ginny didn’t, and it’s not like he’s suddenly decided against girls. He might grow up and marry Ginny. He might marry someone else. He might decide he wants to date someone else and be normal.

But he’s damn well going to enjoy what he has while he has it. And no matter what happens after this, he doubts he’s going to _forget_ that he likes both. This has the ring of a forever experience.

*

Draco has no idea what Potter thinks he’s doing after the war.

Snogging both girls _and_ boys. Going around with this big silly smile on his face, so everyone knows the exact night he got kissed for the first time. At least, they do if they’re observant, and Draco has no time to bother with people who aren’t. _They_ probably don’t need to be constantly observant to survive this brave new post-war world.

Draco has known about his own preferences for a while now, and they definitely point away from Pansy and her ilk. But that doesn’t matter. Marrying women and having children is what grown-up men do. Potter probably doesn’t know any better because he never had any parents to teach him properly—

Draco has to cut that thought off. After all, he doesn’t anymore, either.

Well, he still has Mother, but she’s so tired from the war that she buries herself in the depths of the Manor and sleeps, or spends time obsessively cleaning alongside the house-elves, trying to remove every trace of the Dark Lord from her home. Father escaped Azkaban, but the Ministry ordered him to have house arrest in another place than the Manor, under the pretense that Draco and Mother would conspire to let him escape and use magic. So now he’s in an old house that reverted to the Ministry when the family that owned it died out, and his letters are so tinged with melancholy Draco can barely read them.

For all practical purposes, he’s on his own.

And those practical purposes are studying and thinking about the future, about how to attract the right kind of girl, who’s proper and pure-blooded but not too prejudiced, because the prejudiced sort would never agree to marry into the disgraced Malfoy family now. On the other hand, the kind that Granger represents would still be wrong.

And the balance is driving him mad, because there’s no girl like that attending school with him right now.

But he does have to admit, he wishes he could have some of the fun Potter is having. Draco continues to watch as much out of envy as out of fascinated horror.

*

Things with Michael don’t last, and neither do they with the two Hufflepuff girls Harry snogs after that, or the Gryffindor boy two years below him, or the Ravenclaw girl. It’s okay. Some people, like Harry, are giddy after the war and just want to enjoy themselves. No one is making any promises, and no one wants to get into the kind of bind that would demand those promises. Instead, they snog and flirt and grope a bit and have a fine old time.

Harry notices Malfoy glaring at him sometimes, but other times it’s not a glare. If it was, Harry wouldn’t have bothered about it. But sometimes he has glazed eyes, and other times he lingers even after Harry meets his eyes and raises a brow, and doesn’t remember, or manage, to turn his expression all the way into a scowl.

So Harry becomes interested in finding out whether Malfoy would be interested in something more than a stare but less than a promise, too, and waits for him outside one of the detentions he gets from McGonagall. McGonagall rarely assigns them to any of the eighth-years, but apparently Malfoy hexed someone in the corridor.

Not Harry. He’s avoided Harry and Hermione and Ron all this year. Harry has to consider that at least sort of significant, now.

The few prefects who come by wink at the sight of Harry waiting and go on their way. Some of them have waited in similar situations and snogged him themselves, and they know Harry’s not going to cause any trouble unless some little firstie happens to stumble on him having fun. And, well, firsties aren’t supposed to be out after curfew, anyway.

Malfoy finally comes out of the classroom, smelling like soapy water and tiredness. He freezes when he sees Harry and puts a cautious hand on his wand, which Harry thinks is a little unfair. It’s not like _he_ has hexed Malfoy, either.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

“To find out what it means when you look at me.” Harry rolls his eyes when Malfoy continues to stare at him like a witless rooster. “To find out if you’d like to snog, or if you’re just upset I won the war.”

Malfoy abruptly stalks up to Harry. Harry blinks and waits. Malfoy is either a lot more forward than Harry thought he would be, or something else is going on here.

Sure enough, Malfoy pokes a finger into Harry’s chest. Harry sighs. He supposes he ought to have known that Malfoy was upset he won the war, rather than interested in something as innocent as flirting.

“Don’t ever do this to me again. I don’t know how you found out, but you’re not going to _taunt_ me with it.”

“What?”

Malfoy hesitates a moment, as if he realizes the bafflement in Harry’s voice is sincere, but then he shakes his head and sneers. “Just _don’t_ act as if me wanting you is anything but shameful, Potter,” he says, and then turns and disappears up the corridor that leads to the dungeons.

Harry has to stand there and blink for a little while before he fully understands what’s happened. And then he goes back to Gryffindor Tower in a thoughtful mood. He hasn’t snogged anyone who was ashamed of it so far. Now and then someone would play coy or shy, but they were always equally eager.

He has to decide what to do about Malfoy, who seems to want things that he thinks he shouldn’t want. And Harry, well, he doesn’t feel sorry for Malfoy, not about a lot of things, but about this, he decides.

_Why should he be left behind when everyone else is having fun?_

It is clearly Harry’s duty to help Malfoy get over himself.

*

Harry starts the campaign the next day at breakfast, writing a letter to Malfoy. He has noticed that Malfoy has next to no owl post, except an occasional Howler. Getting some might make him feel more normal and inclined to accept that, even if he doesn’t want to snog Harry, Harry isn’t about to make fun of him for having normal desires.

So Harry writes about how he thinks Malfoy is a little too busy thinking about the war, in a way that Harry isn’t because he has other things to occupy his hands and his time, and Harry doesn’t hate him for what he did. There’s just too _much_ going on to hate someone. Harry buys a box of chocolates at Honeydukes and sends it with the owl.

Malfoy’s face is a study when he opens the box, which he does first, his wand aimed along the underside of the table as if to disarm any curses on it the minute they begin to function. He stares wildly at the chocolates, pokes them with his wand, and casts a few more charms that Harry doesn’t know. One makes the chocolate in the front of the box collapse into a small melted puddle.

Beside Harry, Ron snorts. “Trust Malfoy not to have any idea how to treat chocolates.”

Harry grins at him. Ron and Hermione are snogging each other all the time, too, but Hermione somehow thinks this is different because they’re “promised” to each other, so she sometimes scolds Harry with experimenting with flirtation. Ron just smiles and acts mellow, the way he does now.

“Wonder who sent them to him, though,” Ron goes on, picking up a piece of bacon and nibbling it thoughtfully. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen Malfoy get any sweets like that the entire time we’ve been back.”

“Wow,” Harry says, thinking about that. He hadn’t thought the important part was the gift rather than the letter. Malfoy is opening the letter now, his face filled with apprehension. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” says Ron, and shrugs, clearly, from the way he’s sitting, admiring the fall of Hermione’s hair around her shoulders rather than showing any more interest in Malfoy and his package. “I suppose even that can change, though. There’s someone out there for everyone.”

Hermione, even though she’s supposedly concentrating fiercely on her book, blushes anyway. Harry turns back in time to see Malfoy reading the letter, and snapping his eyes up to Harry. Harry nods.

Malfoy tucks the box and the letter away, and rushes from the Great Hall.

 _Not the reaction I expected,_ Harry thinks, and sips from his own glass of pumpkin juice. _Huh. I suppose I’ll have to find him later and ask him what_ that _means._

*

Draco has several hours to prepare his words before Potter approaches him, luckily. By then, he has his mask perfected, too, the thick expression of glazed indifference that Father used to wear into Ministry meetings with people who were trying to impress him rather than the other way around.

Draco can’t wear anything more honest. Potter is trying to _trick_ him. Or, at best, being insincere without realizing it. Draco’s going to do something that will damp any pretensions and stop any insincerity at the same time.

By the time Potter comes to meet him in the room just outside the dungeons where Draco sent him an anonymous owl to meet, Draco has already conjured two mirrors to check his expression. It’s perfect. Now he turns to the door as it opens, and gives Potter such a regal nod that Potter pauses for a bit.

“Malfoy,” Potter says slowly, and Draco knows what he’s thinking just from one look into those guiltless green eyes. Draco is the Malfoy he used to deal with, in his mind, instead of the pathetic little boy Draco’s been acting like since the war.

_Pathetic is the word for it, if he thinks he can play with me._

“I received your letter and your box,” says Draco. He folds his arms, after pausing a moment to make sure that the movement will be appropriately slow and regal, like his nod. “I want to know which game you’re playing.”

“Pardon? Game?”

Draco scoffs. He always knew that Potter wasn’t a great actor, but this impersonation is just hopeless, even for him. “I know that you don’t commit to anyone or get them gifts, Potter. You just snog the pants off them instead.”

Potter’s expression goes through several complicated changes before he settles on defensive, the way Draco always assumed he would. He folds his own arms and lifts his chin. “I don’t do anything with anyone that they don’t want to do, Malfoy.”

“I’m sure they agree. But unlike some of the idiotic children in this school, I don’t plan on selling my virtue.”

“ _Selling your virtue_?”

That makes Draco pause again. Thing is, Potter’s not that good an actor. That means that the way he looks now, and the dumbfounded tone in his voice, makes it all the more likely that he’s _not_ playing a game.

But then what was he doing, sending Draco a box and a letter like nothing he’s ever given anyone before?

There’s a possibility, but it’s one that Draco doesn’t think even exists in Potter’s vocabulary. He thrusts the thought away, and continues, “If you were going to fulfill the promises in that letter, you’d need a lot more practice at commitment.”

Potter shakes his head, his hair making a little rustling noise where it brushes his shoulders. “Then you would blame me for making promises all over the place and breaking them.”

He probably would, but that is _not the point_. Potter cannot be courting him, and he must be planning a more subtle attack on Draco than Draco ever anticipated. Time to show him that Draco got there ahead of him, and he’s not about to be manipulated into a vulnerable position. He adopts his haughtiest sneer. “Why did you send me that letter and those chocolates?”

“Because you said that you wanted me. And it’s not fair that everyone else gets to leave the war behind and forget about it, however they choose to do it.” Potter shifts his weight, the first sign of discomfort he’s shown since the conversation began. Draco rejoices to see it. He shouldn’t be alone in what he’s feeling. “I thought I would show you that I think you’re attractive. And if you don’t want to snog me, then you don’t need to feel left out. As Ron says, there’s someone out there for everyone. But you’ll never find out if you could find someone you want, if your only response is to accuse them of playing games.”

“The chocolates were a pity offering?” Draco chooses to discard, for the moment, that Potter got romantic advice from Weasley of all people.

“No. An offering from one human being to another.” Potter’s gaze is unblinking now. “I think you deserve things like that. Little gifts just because.”

“You gave it to me so I would kiss you.”

“You could kiss me if you _wanted_. And I thought I would show you that I wouldn’t mind. That I’d like it.”

“There’s a big difference between the last thing you said and the thing before that, Potter!” Draco is aware that his voice is rising, and that it’s undignified. But he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and he thinks that any moment Potter will burst out laughing. That makes it rather hard to relax and trust the way Potter is asking him to.

“Fine. I’d like to kiss you.” Potter spreads his hands. “Shit, I’m not any better at this than you, Malfoy. I just caught people’s eyes and they’d come and ask me, or we would exchange glances and then meet up to snog. It’s not like I’m some grand seducer. I’ve been with five people, and that was only kissing.” Potter winds up that peroration with a heavy sigh, as if _Draco_ is the one who’s exasperating.

Draco can only stare. Potter is standing here in front of him and telling him that he’d like to snog Draco back and that he hasn’t had any sex with anyone? Not _real_ sex? Despite the rumors that are all over the school…

Then Draco remembers some of the rumors he helped to start himself fourth year, and feels foolish.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Draco swallows. He can feel all the beats, all the rhythms, of the conversation that will take place if Potter leaves. Potter will glare and stomp off, and Draco will spend the rest of the school year wondering what his mouth tastes like, and knowing other people are getting to find out.

He can take a risk. It might not pan out. But the regret he’d risk if he didn’t snog Potter would be as real as the other.

“If you try to tell anyone about this, Potter,” he says, and steps nearer while he eyes Potter’s hands to make sure that they aren’t about to reach out and snatch his wand, “I am going to _end_ you.”

Potter’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically. In the end, Draco is the one who leans forwards and brings their mouths together.

*

 _Forbidden fruit,_ Harry thinks as Malfoy’s tongue sneaks into his mouth alongside Harry’s own. _That’s what Hermione would say. She would probably be right—_

But then pure instinct takes over. Harry knows what feels good, and he knows he’s not getting it from Malfoy right now.

He licks back, kisses back, and steers Malfoy over to one of the desks in the classroom. His idea is that they’ll sit down together in the chair or on the desk, and then he can get the right angle to kiss Malfoy in a way that will feel good. He knows this because he and Michael kissed like this.

But Malfoy has other ideas, too. He sets his feet so that Harry almost stumbles when he tries to pull on him, and then he tugs Harry’s head up and flicks his teeth with his tongue. Harry hesitates, not sure how to respond, and Malfoy pulls his arms out wide and slides his cool hand under Harry’s shirt.

Harry jumps. He knows someone else must have touched his chest, surely they did, he probably touched it himself this morning when he was bathing, but it somehow feels incredibly _different_ to have Malfoy do it.

Malfoy's smile is bright and wide and full of teeth. That alone makes Harry decide that some revenge is in order. He reaches out and slides a hand down from Malfoy's shoulder to his breastbone, over his shirt and then going under it. Malfoy makes a startled noise that is at least _similar_ to the one that Harry made.

They wrestle each other after that.

They trip over one of the desks, making such a large clatter that Harry is sure Peeves is going to come and find them and report them to someone. Then again, he got away with snagging other people in out-of-the-way corners. Maybe no one cares.

Harry does shake his head to chase thoughts of those people out of his head. He wants to focus on _Malfoy._

Malfoy with his frustratingly unmarked neck and his pink lips and his tongue insistently stroking against Harry's, then darting away again when Harry tries to deepen the kiss. Harry drags his head sideways and kisses him so hard that Malfoy's eyes cross. They roll a little to the side, and collide with the bottom of another desk.

While Harry's head is reeling a little from the sudden blow, Malfoy drags his shirt off. Or halfway off, since the collar gets caught around Harry's neck. Harry spits and struggles and has to help, unless he wants to be blinded by cloth for the rest of their--whatever this is.

Malfoy at least is trying to take his own shirt off, too, but it's not helped by his absolute insistence on keeping both hands on Harry's skin at all times. Harry uses his teeth at one point to drag the shirt over Malfoy's head. It's not the prettiest of efforts, especially with slobber down Malfoy's collar, but it does the job.

And then, when their chests are bare, and Harry can finally, _finally_ press them together, Malfoy just has to snake a hand down his trousers.

Harry yelps. Malfoy smirks. Harry retaliates. Malfoy yelps.

Then it's a race, their hands sliding against smooth skin and cloth and each other's glares, as they struggle along in a whirlwind chase to the finish. God, it feels good, it _is_ good, and Harry is nowhere near as terrified as he once thought he would be to have someone else touch him. It felt good to have fun, but this--this is transcendent. Ten times better. A million.

Not that he feels the _need_ , as such, to tell Malfoy that aloud, when the git would only crow at him.

If he had the breath to crow, at least. But now Malfoy is twisting and gasping alongside him, and they feel like a pair of breathless snakes to Harry, and good sweet jumping Merlin, here it _is_ \--

Now it feels a million times better than good.

*

Draco comes back to himself and wonders why he's lying on the floor of a dirty classroom with Potter. He asks the question aloud, to hear his own voice and wonder if that means he'll be able to get an answer that makes sense.

"Would it be better if it was a clean classroom?"

Draco turns his head. Potter is lying there with an exhausted, sated smile on his face. Draco immediately opens his mouth.

"I know, I know," Potter says, with a lazy wave of his hand, and sits up to begin pulling on his shirt and reaching for his wand. "It doesn't mean anything, it doesn't make us boyfriends, it doesn't mean that you're suddenly ready to be open and gay, it's probably going to disgust you tomorrow." He pauses and nods to Draco. "But, Malfoy."

"What?" Draco asks warily, bracing for an insult.

"That was the best damn sex I've ever had."

"It's the only damn sex you've ever had."

"But I'm glad it was good." Potter smooths his shirt out to his satisfaction and nods seriously again to Draco. "And any time you want a repeat? Let me know." He turns and strides out of the classroom still muttering charms at the wet spot on his trousers.

Draco sits there. He goes over what happened in his head. Whatever he expected to happen next, this is...not it.

Then again, when he tries to imagine what he expected to happen, he can't imagine that, either.

He does know that a few things are certainly not going to happen. Potter isn't going to betray him to the school. He won't smirk at Draco in the corridors. He won't humiliate Draco in front of his friends. He won't shake his head and look the other way in pity if Draco _does_ approach him and request a repeat.

And when he realizes that all of his thoughts about what bad things could happen are focused on Potter, Draco has to wonder.

He stands up. He dries the wet spot. He puts on his shirt. He shudders a few times and wanders around the classroom casting random spells that will remove any trace of him before he turns and goes outside.

And he realizes that he's smiling.

Despite it all. Despite everything.

He might tell Potter yes.

Maybe. Well, he will. But he intends to have a bit more fun first.

Because it _was_ pretty good.

And together, they might make it something more.

**The End.**


End file.
